


Maximum Consumption

by felineranger



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Body Image, Food Issues, Food Porn, Forced Feeding, M/M, Masturbation, dieting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lister decides to go on a strict diet, Rimmer is surprised to find that it affects him in a most unexpected way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me. Just...working through some issues here.

“ _Kiun vojon al la muzeo?_ ”

“What flavour is the muesli?”

“ _Which way to the museum?_ ”

“Drat.  So close.”

“ _Je kioma horo vi fermas?”_

“Can I get there by ferry?”

_“What time do you close?”_

“OFF!!!”

“Excuse me, Lister.  I wasn’t finished practising,” Rimmer said huffily, turning to his irritated companion. 

“You’re driving me spare, man,” Lister growled from his place on the sofa.  He was huddled down in his red longjohns, with his jacket slung over the top as a token gesture to being dressed.  “You haven’t got a single phrase right since you started.  Just give it a rest.”  He returned his attention to his crumpled magazine, still frowning.

“What’s the matter with you?” Rimmer asked, “Did you leave the fifth sugar out of your coffee this morning?  Is it nearly time for your annual flossing?  Are you _man_ struating?”  Rimmer was convinced Lister’s hormones had never completely reset after his pregnancy.  Lister scowled at him.

“Nothing’s the matter.  I’m fine.  Stop bugging me.”

“Oh my God,” Cat rolled his eyes as he entered the room and heard Lister’s petulant tone, “Are you still sulking?  Get over it, buddy.”

“Sulking about what?” Rimmer probed as Cat shimmied over to the fridge and poured himself a glass of cold milk.

“I’m not sulking!” Lister insisted furiously.

“Please.  You got a face on you like a dog in a bathtub,” Cat said scornfully.

“Drop it,” Lister warned, but Rimmer was not to be deterred.

“Come on, spill the beans,” he beamed, leaning forward eagerly, “What’s he so grouchy about?”

“Ya got me,” Cat replied disdainfully.  “Dude’s been ugly for years, don’t know why it’s started bothering him now.”

“Ugly?” Rimmer raised an eyebrow at Lister, who reddened.

“Just leave it, will ya?”

“Here we go again,” Cat said indignantly, “What are you getting mad at me for?  I’m just telling it like it is.  It’s like this morning all over again.  All I did was point out that you were never going to get those leather pants zipped up over that tubby tummy of yours, and all of a sudden I’m public enemy number one!  You’d think you’d be pleased to have someone give you a little advice and spare you all that effort!”

“Really?” Rimmer grinned hugely, “You couldn’t get your trousers on this morning?”

“You should have seen him!” Cat went on, oblivious, “Red-faced and sweating, straining to hold everything in while he pulled the zip up.  Most people would be grateful to have someone point out to them when they’re wasting their time, but oh no.”

“Is that why you’re wearing your jacket over your longjohns?” Rimmer could hardly conceal his delight. 

Lister threw down his magazine, “I don’t have to take this.  I’m going to find Kryten.”

“Good idea.  He can probably sew in one of those waistband extenders for you.”

“Look, I may have put on a teeny-tiny bit of weight, but so what?”

“A teeny-tiny bit? Ha!” Cat threw his head back in an exaggerated laugh, “Buddy, you’ve been putting away so much food in those dormouse cheeks of yours, I just assumed you were getting ready to go into hibernation!” 

“Smeg off!”

“He has a point, Lister.  You do have a tendency to eat your feelings, and we all know how mopey you’ve been the last few months,” Rimmer said, his voice dripping with false concern.

“Hey, it’s not just me.  You’re not exactly as tight and trim as you used to be either!”

Rimmer bristled, “Nonsense.  I’m in peak condition.  Besides, if I _wanted_ to lose weight, I’d just adjust my programme slightly.  Not so easy for you, miladdo.”

“I could lose weight if I wanted to,” Lister snapped.

“Of course.  I can just picture you now, belting up and down the corridors in your running shorts, a carrot stick clutched in one chubby fist for sustenance.”

“Well, why not?”

“Please.  You get withdrawal symptoms if you go for more than a few hours without curry.”

“I’m not taking a lecture on self-denial from a guy who once buried his head in mashed potato.  Or _my_ head, rather.”

“Be fair.  There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Well, one thing’s for damn sure,” Lister narrowed his eyes, “I’d do a lot better dealing with this myself than letting you loose on my poor body again.”

“I’m hard-light now.  I don’t have the same pent-up urges anymore.  I am totally in control of my desires,” Rimmer said loftily.

“Yeah, well so am I!  I’m going to lose weight and I can do it without you.  Just you wait.” Lister marched out. 

Rimmer watched him go with a pitying smile and shook his head, “Poor Listy.  So delusional.  Does he really think he’ll ever be able to shift those extra pounds?  You mark my words, at his age it’s a downhill slope.  Once the middle-age spread sets in it just keeps spreading.”

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Cat shrugged indifferently, following Lister out.  “None of you will ever be as attractive as me, so why worry about it?  Dormouse Cheeks should just have a donut and forget about it.”

“Indeed he should,” Rimmer smiled smugly, “And no doubt he will.”

                The next morning however, Rimmer had a surprise.  He entered their quarters to find Lister sitting at the table reading a book.  This would have been suspicious in itself, but there was a strangely luminous green drink beside him.  “Lister, what on earth is that revolting concoction?  No milkshake in existence should be that colour!”

“It’s not a milkshake” Lister told him, “It’s a smoothie.  Pineapple, mango, carrot, spinach and kale.”

“It looks disgusting.”

“It’s not that bad.  You can mostly just taste the pineapple,” Lister sipped at the straw to demonstrate. 

Rimmer narrowed his eyes.  “Since when do you drink smoothies?”

“Since now,” Lister replied calmly.

“You should be careful.  Your body’s never ingested that many vitamins in one hit before.  It could go into shock.”

“It’ll adjust,” Lister replied enigmatically.

“What do you mean?”

                Lister raised up the book he was reading so Rimmer could see the cover.  _“‘Half The Man You Used To Be’_?” he read out disbelievingly, “You’re reading a diet book?”

“Not just reading,” Lister said, “Following.  I went to the medi-bay yesterday and the medi-bot has given me a target weight loss of 35 pounds.  Or two and a half stone, if you prefer.  It recommended this book to get me started.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Yep.  For the next week, I will be living entirely off smoothies.”

“No curry?”

“Nope.”

“No sugar puffs?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“No biscuits?”

“No food at all.  Just smoothies.  After a week I can start reintroducing food gradually until I’ve reached my target weight.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You will see it.  Kryten’s helping me.  All the dispensing machines on board have promised not to let me cheat.  I am on my first step towards a new improved Dave Lister.  And you, smeghead, are not going to discourage me.”

“You’ll be stuffing your face with crisps by the end of the day.  I guarantee it.”

                Lister smiled dangerously, “Oh, yeah?  Wanna make it interesting, man?”

“I’m listening.”

“If I make it to my target weight, you have to cook me a three course meal of my choosing.  Deal?”

“Lister,” Rimmer shook his head sadly, “That’s far, far too easy for me.  If you can last the first _week_ of this silly diet without any food, then I’ll cook your daft meal and feed it to you by hand.  But…” he raised a warning finger, “…if you slip up, if you cheat, if you break down and so much as nibble a single nut, then I get your body back for a week.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What’s the matter?  Not so confident suddenly?”

“What do you even want my body back for?” Lister demanded nervously, “You said it yourself, you’re hard-light now.  You don’t need it.”

“So I can show you how to take care of it properly.”

“Oh, like last time???”

“This will be my chance to prove to you that I’ve moved on and that I know what’s best for you.  Agreed?”

Lister eyed him warily for a second, then stuck out his hand.  “Fine.  Agreed.”

Rimmer grinned, “May the best man win.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

                To begin with, Rimmer wasn’t concerned.  He was fairly confident Lister would buckle and eat something before the week was out; and even if he didn’t – so what?  He could stand to cook one lousy meal for the goit, his pride had suffered far worse over the years.  The first night of Lister’s new diet, he had watched with a patronising smile as Kryten presented Lister with his suppertime smoothie.  “Well done, Listy.  Only twenty-four more of those to gulp down before you can eat again.  Twenty-four.  Actually it sounds like quite a lot when you say it like that, doesn’t it?  Let’s just say six days instead.  Six whole days before you get the satisfaction of biting into a nice satisfying meal.”

“Ignore him, Sir,” Kryten patted Lister’s shoulder soothingly, “The time will fly past.  I’ve even concocted some special recipes incorporating your favourite flavours and spices so you don’t feel deprived.  There’s a wonderful tomato, celery, and chili juice headed your way at breakfast.  Just throw in vodka and you’d have a delicious Bloody Mary.”

“Am I allowed to put vodka in?”

“No sir.  But you can pretend.”

                It wasn’t until the following night, as he was watching Lister forlornly suck his cup dry, that Rimmer felt the first pang.  At first he thought it might be sympathy, but quickly rejected the ridiculous notion.  Pity maybe?  Equally unlikely.  But something about this business made him uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just the idea that Lister was apparently taking this diet thing seriously and might actually make good on his threat to see it through.  It was when he was lying in bed sometime later, that the cause of his discomfort had become clear to him.

He missed watching Lister eat.  For years he’d lived vicariously through his bunkmate, watching with jealous eyes as Lister had chowed his way through tasty curries and boxes of chocolates - sugar and spice and everything nice – with an enthusiasm that was almost indecent.  If music was the food of love, then food was the music of the soul, and Lister danced to it more freely than most people Rimmer had ever known.  He’d heard him moan in pleasure when biting into a poppadum.  He’d watched him licking his spoon, his lips, his fingers, to capture every last drop of curry sauce or gravy or whatever else he was enjoying.  Perhaps with other pleasures of the flesh in such short supply, Lister had simply made the most of what he had available.  But watching him, however frustrating it could be, had made Rimmer remember what it felt like to be alive.  It made him remember what it was like to taste…to feel.  Even now, with his senses returned and able to eat and taste for himself once again, the association had clearly remained.  Lister took an obscene pleasure in eating that was almost sensual, almost orgasmic.  When his eyes closed in gastronomic delight, or his tongue glided over his lips, Rimmer could almost imagine…so, so many things.  Somehow, without him realising, the simple act of Lister eating had come to symbolise so much more.  Lister’s pleasure had become his pleasure; and if Lister was hungry, if Lister was _unsatisfied_ , then that made Rimmer feel unsatisfied.  Something had to be done.

                Lister was wandering down the corridor the next day when a divine scent teased his nose.  He sniffed the air.  Was that…jalfrezi?  No.  No, madras.  Definitely madras.  He immediately felt his mouth watering in a classic Pavlovian response.  Curry.  Fresh, hot curry.  Somewhere close.  Then he saw it.  The neat little foil tin sitting casually on a shelf just ahead, steam curling up in a seductive dance.  His stomach growled at the rich savoury aroma.  He edged forward cautiously to inspect the situation.  A piping hot chicken madras, with a side portion of saffron-infused pilau rice, just sitting in the corridor.  Almost as if it was waiting for him.  Lister rolled his eyes and stepped back, his arms folded.  “How dumb do you think I am?” he addressed the apparently empty corridor.  “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Rimmer.”  He walked away, shaking his head.  Inside the supply closet opposite, Rimmer cursed.  Clearly a more sophisticated approach was going to be required.

                Later that day, Lister returned to their quarters and stopped in his tracks.  There were snacks _everywhere_.  Little party bowls filled with crisps, nuts, popcorn and pretzels were scattered all through the room.  In the middle of it all sat Rimmer, grinning smugly from the sofa.  “Why, hello Listy.  Come in.  Sit down.  Make yourself comfortable.”

“You really are a total scumbag, aren’t you?  Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?  Just because you’re on a diet, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to suffer.”  Rimmer very deliberately grabbed a handful of popcorn and began to munch.  “Mmmm.  Buttery.”

“You’ve been making fun of my weight for years.  I’m finally trying to do something about it.  I thought you’d be more supportive.”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I support you 100%.”

“Then why are you trying to sabotage my diet?”

“Come on.  A few grains of popcorn won’t hurt.  It’s practically all air.”

“You know I’m not supposed to eat any food for another four days!  Just smoothies!”

“It can’t be good for you, you know.”

“I’ve already lost four pounds.”

“But at what cost, Lister?  What is it doing to you physically?  What is it doing to you _psychologically_?” Rimmer stared at him gravely.

“I’m okay,” Lister said, perturbed.

“Are you though?”  Rimmer stared him down, “Are you really?”

                Lister shook himself.  “You’re weirding me out.  I’m going to stay in another room for a while if you’re going to be like this.”

“Like what?  I’m just showing concern for your well-being.”

“No, you’re trying to break me so that you can win this dumb bet.  And it’s not going to work.  You are NOT having my body back, Rimmer.  End of.”

                After watching Lister spend another dinnertime slurping down a smoothie, Rimmer found himself reminiscing about past meals.  He thought fondly of the giant kebabs he’d seen Lister tuck into.  The three tiered sandwiches.  The foot-long hotdogs and double cheeseburgers.  That night he found himself lying in bed, stroking himself to the memory of Lister digging into an ice-cream sundae.  He sat through breakfast and lunch the next day with clenched fists.  He ate seconds at every meal, but it wasn’t enough to fill the aching hole inside him when he saw Lister sipping unhappily at another brightly-coloured concoction.  “Aren’t you starving?” he asked plaintively.  Lister shrugged despondently.  “Not really.  The smoothies are pretty filling.  It’s just boring really.”

“Don’t you miss getting your teeth into something though?” Rimmer pressed, “Feeling the flavours and textures in your mouth as you chew and swallow?”  Lister glared at him.

“It’s only for a few more days.  Stop trying to distract me.”

“It’s making me hungry just watching you.”

“Then smeg off and don’t watch me,” Lister countered grumpily.

                Rimmer spent the rest of the afternoon baking.  His hands shook as he mixed together a festival of cookie doughs; double chocolate, triple chocolate, vanilla and chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal and raisin, pumpkin spice, orange gingerbread, lemon and blueberry.  Every flavour he could think of, every ingredient he could get his hands on.  He tested one of each batch to ensure they were perfect.  Crisp and crunchy, fluffy and soft, sweet and tart and fruity.  There was no way he’d be able to resist.  He went to find Lister. 

He was tucked away in his temporary new room, playing a video game.  Rimmer peered around the door, “List-er!” he sang quietly.  Lister did not look around.  “Listy, I brought you something,” he cooed persistently.

“Go away, Rimmer.”

“I have cookies.  Warm, freshly-baked cookies…”

“I don’t want cookies.”

“Of course you do.  You know you do.  You can smell them, can’t you?  And don’t they smell good?”

“I’m not eating them, Rimmer.”

“Not even one?  Not even one of the really small ones?  I made them especially for you, you’re not going to let all that work go to waste, are you?”

“Yes, because you only made them out of spite.  I am doing really well and I’m not going to let you ruin this for me.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know.  You want these cookies.  I know you do.”

“Maybe I do, but I’m still not going to eat them.”

“Look, you’ve made your point.  It’s been four days.  I take back what I said, you could do the whole seven-day smoothie diet if you wanted to.  But why put yourself through it?”

“Because I’m not finished yet, and I’m not doing this to prove anything to you.  I’m doing it for me.  And you’re only saying all this because you want me to quit.”

“I just want you to eat something.”

“You want to win.”

                Rimmer came and stood right in front of him, blocking the screen, and banged the overflowing tray of cookies down on the coffee table in front of him.  “Take a cookie.”

“No.”

“Take a cookie, Lister.”

“I’m not taking a cookie!”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“Get _out_ , Rimmer!”

“Not until you eat.”

“No way!”

Rimmer grabbed a fat chewy chocolate cookie and held it up warningly, “Don’t make me do this, Lister.”

“You can’t make me eat it.”

“Open up.  Let’s go.”

“No!” 

Rimmer leapt forward, pinning Lister to the sofa and sitting on him.  “Get off me!” Lister squirmed, thrashing angrily beneath him. 

“Eat the cookie!” Rimmer demanded, pushing it in his face.

“No!” Lister turned his face away, struggling.

“EAT IT!!!”

“ _No!_ ” Lister squeaked defiantly.  There were a few chaotic moments of kicking, flailing limbs and swearing before Lister finally managed to throw Rimmer off and scramble away panting.

                “What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” he shouted, “Does winning this stupid bet really mean that much to you?  You’ve got your own body now, why are you that desperate for mine?”

“This isn’t about the bet,” Rimmer grumbled from the floor, sucking melted chocolate from his fingers.

“So what then?”

“I don’t know,” Rimmer muttered, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, no.  I understand.  You just want me to fail.  You want me to be a failure at everything, just like you!  You want me to be fat and miserable, because you won’t be happy until everyone else on this ship hates themselves as much as you do!  Well, I am not going to let you drag me down with you.  I am going to complete this diet, I am going to succeed and there’s nothing you can do about it.  Now _get_ _out_.”

                Rimmer pulled himself up off the floor and slunk out without a word.  Lister sighed heavily, closed his eyes and rubbed his temples soothingly.  He was tired and hungry and grumpy and he couldn’t deal with this right now.  “Um, Lister?”

“What?” he snapped, opening his eyes to see Rimmer peering sheepishly around the door.

“If you’re really not going to eat them…can I have my cookies back?”  Lister picked up the tray and hurled the whole thing out the door at him, cookies and all, then slammed the door lock with his palm and threw himself back down on the sofa with a growl.  Outside, he heard Rimmer say awkwardly, “Ah.  Never mind then.”

It was shortly followed by Cat’s voice a few moments later, crowing, “Hey!  Cookies!”


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

                Lister went to bed that night feeling miserable.  He knew that he didn’t have long of this initial stage of his diet left, and he was more determined than ever to finish it, but smeg this whole thing had left him feeling low.  Lister loved food.  He loved the comfort of a warm bowl in cold fingers, the simple luxury of a creamy buttery sauce on his tongue, the intimacy of a shared meal.  As a child, when he couldn’t afford toys he would buy sweets to make himself feel better.  As an adult, when he couldn’t afford practically anything, he’d buy a takeaway for the same reason.  He longed for the ‘I love you’ implicit in someone making his favourite meal – familial, platonic or romantic.  And out here in deep space, lonely and isolated, food was one of the few things that reminded him he was still human.  He curled up tight under his blanket and sadly stroked his slightly smaller tummy.  “This had all better be worth it,” he grumbled.

                He awoke some time later, drowsy and confused.  His pillow was gone.  His bed was hard and the wrong shape.  His head fell forward and he started in alarm, disorientated suddenly.  He was sitting up and his limbs wouldn’t move.  He was…he was tied to a chair….

                Suddenly a bright light was shining in his face and he squinted, “Argh!  What the smeg is goin’ on?”

“Hello Lister,” Rimmer’s voice said calmly from somewhere behind the light.

“Rimmer?  What are you playing at?”

“We need to have a little talk.”

“Get that smegging light out of my eyes at least!”

“Ah.  Sorry.” Rimmer swivelled the lamp away, “Is that better?”

“No!  What the smeg is going on here?  Have you gone crazy?”

“Not crazy,” Rimmer said distantly, “At least not yet.”

“Then why am I tied to a chair???”

“Lister,” Rimmer steepled his fingers beneath his chin, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to demand that you cease and desist with the smoothies.  I’m not asking you to give up on your diet altogether, but I insist on you eating at least three balanced meals a day.”

“Why, for crying out loud?  Why is this such a big deal to you?”

“Because over the last few days I have come to realise that for some strange ungodly reason, watching you eat is very important to me.”

“Excuse me?”

Rimmer leaned forward, an alarming intensity in his expression.  “I need.  To watch.  You eat.” He repeated slowly and emphatically. 

Lister side-eyed him suspiciously.  “Is this a sex thing?”

“Well,” Rimmer said wistfully, “Isn’t everything ultimately?  At least according to Freud.”

“Okay.  That’s weird, but okay.  I’m not judging.  But it’s my life and my body and you can’t make me stop if I don’t want to.”

“You do want to.  I can tell you’re absolutely miserable.”

“This has been really hard for me.  I don’t want it all to have been for nothing.”

“It won’t be.  You said it yourself, you’ve already lost a few pounds.  I’ll help you lose the rest, so long as you don’t starve yourself.”

“And if I say no, then what are you going to do?”

“Something we’ll both regret.  Well…we’ll probably enjoy it a bit too.  But we’ll regret it afterwards.”

Lister’s eyes widened anxiously, “Meaning?”

                Rimmer walked to the table, where Lister now saw an object in the shadows.  Rimmer picked it up and returned to the light.  Lister drew in a faint gasp.  “What is that?” he whispered.

“This,” Rimmer told him, “is everything you fear.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I created it.  Nothing else on board was…suitable…for the task.”

“Is that…” Lister swallowed hard, “A cake?”

“This is every conceivable dessert imaginable, combined into one majestic masterpiece,” Rimmer breathed.  “The base is a chocolate pastry case, filled with layers of cheesecake, sponge, fruit, whipped cream, jam, cookie crumb and chocolate ganache.  The sides are coated in buttercream and the top is decorated with meringue, miniature profiteroles and a selection of blitzed up chocolate bars and the whole thing is drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauce.”

“Ohhh…” Lister made a faint sound of both terror and desire.

“This dessert contains milk, white and dark chocolate,” Rimmer went on, “Rich mascarpone cheese, and lashings of cream, butter and sugar.  I ran the psi-scan over it and do you know what it said?  Over a thousand calories per helping, Lister.  _Well_ over.”

“You’re a madman,” Lister whispered, trembling.

                Rimmer sauntered closer, holding the unexploded calorie bomb right under Lister’s nose.  Close enough so he could smell the chocolate.  “You’re going to quit your smoothie diet, Lister, and let me help you lose the weight another way.  Or, I’m going to sit here and force feed you this dessert.  Every single calorie you’ve saved over the last few days and more will be cancelled out and you’ll be right back to square one.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“Not even you’re that cruel.”

“I’m a man on the edge,” Rimmer told him gravely.

“Look, you can’t make me eat it.  Even if you could, I’d manage maybe – what? A quarter of that thing before I threw up or went into a sugar coma?”

“Let’s find out.”

Rimmer picked up a spoon and dug into the demon dessert.  The soft silky sound it made as it cut through the layers of gooey goodness gave Lister goosebumps. 

“C’mon, man,” he said nervously, “Let’s talk about this.”

“Open wide.”

“This really isn’t fair.”

“I’ll hold your nose if you don’t co-operate.”

“What will I tell the others?  They’ll be disappointed in me if they think I’ve just quit.”

“They’ll be even more disappointed when they find you in the morning, sleeping face-down in what’s left of this, while I tell them how you snapped.”

“I’ll tell them the truth.”

“Let’s face it, Lister.  In the circumstances, who are they going to believe?”

“You are such a massive bastard!”  The silver spoon hovered just beyond Lister’s lips, laden with sweet glistening sin.  He could smell cherries.  His lips parted, almost against his own will, and he quickly clamped them shut again.  Rimmer pinched his nose.  “Open up, here comes the aeroplane.”

                “Alright!” Lister quacked, shaking him off, “Alright!  Okay!  I’ll stop with the smoothies!  Just get off and get that spoon out my face, you barmy twat!”

“Very well,” Rimmer stepped back and lowered his weapon, “I’m glad that you’ve seen sense.”

“Nothing about this makes sense,” Lister snapped, “Now untie me, for smeg’s sake.”

“Okay, okay.”

                “So,” Lister rubbed at his wrists after Rimmer released him, “What now?  What’s your plan?”

“A healthy balanced diet, with more fruit and veg, strict portion control and much more exercise.”

“Oh, goody.”

“It might not be as quick, but it’ll still work.  You’ll see the results eventually.”

“Great,” Lister said unenthusiastically.  “What are you going to do with _that_?” he nodded at the dessert. 

Rimmer shrugged.  “I dunno.  Chuck it out, I suppose.”

“Chuck it out?” Lister glared at him, “Are you having a laugh?  You spend how many hours making that thing, wave it right under my smegging nose, then you’re just going to throw it out?”

“Well, you can’t eat it and I don’t want the whole thing.”

“Cat might have some.”

“Not if he knows I made it.”

“I mean…I suppose…” Lister hesitated.  Rimmer gave him a suspicious look.

“You suppose what?”

“Well,” Lister gave him a slightly pleading look, “I have been very good for days.  Just one little spoonful probably wouldn’t undo all that work.  Would it?”

                Rimmer smiled like a snake, “Can you stop at just one bite though, Lister?  That’s the question.”

“You can restrain me if I get carried away,” Lister replied dryly.

“Go on then.  One spoonful.” Lister grinned and stepped forward, but Rimmer held up a hand, “Uh-uh.  Allow me.”  He picked up the spoon again.

“You want to feed it to me?”

“I think it’s safer if I hold the spoon.  Just so you’re not tempted.”

“Riiiight,” Lister said, “Of course.”

“Open wide,” Rimmer coaxed again, and this time Lister obeyed.

                Rimmer held the spoon out and watched entranced as Lister’s lips closed around it.  When he drew it back, the spoon was almost clean.  Lister chewed dreamily, head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes closed.  “Oh my god,” he murmured with his mouth full, “This is amazing.  Oh, I so needed that.”

“You like that, do you?” Rimmer asked quietly.

“Oh, yeah.  Oh…mmm…”

“I bet you’d have liked to eat the whole thing, wouldn’t you?”

“Eat it?” Lister moaned, “I’d like to smegging _roll_ in it.  It’s so smooth, and then the softness of the sponge, then the little bit of crunch from the cookies and the pastry, then you get the sharp hit of the jam…”

“…with the chocolate running through it all…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“And the little hints of caramel and vanilla…”

“It’s beautiful, man.”

“Have some more.”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Just one more little spoonful.  I’ll try and make it mostly fruit this time.”

“But…”

“Shhh…Just eat.”

Lister glanced down and smiled , “Have you got an erection?”

Rimmer shifted uncomfortably and blushed, “Um…yes.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Lister gave him a strange, dreamy smile, “Me too.”  Then he closed his eyes and opened his mouth again expectantly.

 

** Three months later **

****

“You didn’t have to do this, y’know,” Lister said warmly, as Rimmer set the plate down in front of him.

“Well, we made a deal.  You’ve done really well to reach your target weight ahead of schedule.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.  Actually, that’s not true.  I could have done it without you, and probably quicker too.  But I’ll admit that your way is much more fun.”

“Shut up and eat your samosas.  You’ve still got your main of lamb biryani, bhajis and naan to come.  Then for dessert I’ve prepared an exquisite coconut, lychee and cardamom ice cream.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Lister purred, picking up a samosa and slowly biting in. 

Rimmer sat back and smiled, unzipping his trousers.  “Tell me,” he said, starting to stroke himself, “when you get the first hit of cumin.”

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sampling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569726) by [cazflibs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs)




End file.
